


Absence and the Best of Brûlée

by Byacolate, mywordsflyup



Series: Salted Caramel [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bath Sex, Birthday Sex, M/M, Modern Thedas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 10:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6192295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cake for dinner, and a bath for dessert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absence and the Best of Brûlée

Bethany once tried to tell him that Orlais wasn’t “really all that bad” - that the rivalry between Orlais and Ferelden had completely distorted his view on a perfectly lovely country. And that he would absolutely love it if he ever got the chance to visit it properly.

 

Carver loves his sister dearly but right now, with his arms laden with plastic bags and anger pulsing through him so intensely it almost makes him dizzy, he decides that she’s without a doubt a no-good filthy liar. And that if he ever makes it out of this godforsaken country, he’ll personally make sure to tell her exactly what he thinks of Orlais.

 

On any other day he may have at least tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. For her, he would have made the effort. She may not have known any better, says a little voice in his head. One that sounds suspiciously like Felix, if Carver’s completely honest. But before the thought can even fully form in his mind, a passing car splashes a puddle of dirty rainwater all over his feet. It’s more of a wave, a tiny tsunami really, that soaks his jeans and shoes in seconds.

 

With plastic bags in his arms, fury in his veins, soggy shoes that make a disgusting sound at every step, Carver decides that yes, Orlais really _is_ that bad. It’s terrible, in fact. The absolute worst.

 

The fact that he’s doing all this for Felix makes the whole thing only marginally more bearable.

 

Carver looks into one of the bags to make sure that his hard-won spicy nuts have remained dry in the recent attack. After having spent the entire afternoon searching this blighted town for them, he doesn’t think he could bear having to go back into the store and dealing with that prick of a clerk again. It’s bad enough that nearly everyone in Val Royeaux refuses to speak Common with him, but when that refusal is also paired with condescending smiles, it’s very difficult for Carver to not throw his purchases right back into their smarmy Orlesian faces.

 

Someone shoves him from behind, followed by a string of Orlesian that doesn’t sound very poetic or romantic at all. Carver glares at the man who pushes his way past him. The man repays in kind, with an added gesture that would be considered offensive in every country.

 

Perfectly lovely.

 

Carver takes a few steps to the side, his soggy socks squelching in his shoes. It has finally stopped raining but the thought of walking all the way to Felix's hotel like this is still pretty disheartening. A taxi then, Carver thinks and readjusts the weight of the bags in his arms. He should have enough cash left to make at least one trip.

 

Even if he found a way to fish his phone out of his back pocket without setting the bags down on the wet ground he wouldn’t have known which number to call. So instead he makes his way back to the main road where he remembers seeing taxis driving by on his way here. A few of the flowers he bought for Felix stick out of the topmost bag and tickle his nose until he rearranges the bags once more. He bought an actual bouquet this time, instead of just picking the flowers himself. Of course the florist sneered at him as soon as it became obvious that Carver didn’t know any of the flower names, neither in Orlesian nor in Common. But it was worth it in the end.  At least it will be. If he ever makes it to the hotel.

 

He can feel himself on the verge of tears when the first cab driver he manages to hail greets him in heavily-accented Common - Antivan, he thinks. Friendly sort. Sympathetic, too, if the way he grins at Carver is any indication.

 

“Where to?” he asks, tactfully avoiding Carver’s stormy mood.

 

Carver gives him the address, and all but basks in the small talk he’s engaged in - where he’s from, what he’s doing in Val Royeaux, what the driver himself got up to the last time he was in Ferelden. Either everything or nothing good, says his tone.

 

Well, Carver figures, that’s Antivans for you.

 

“I see flowers,” he says briefly, glancing sideways at Carver. “Someone special awaits you in the city?”  


“Yes. Well, no,” Carver says, backtracking.

 

“Yes and no?”

 

“He’s special,” Carver amends, “but he doesn’t… technically _await_ me. It’s his birthday. He was held up here. So I flew over on a lark.”

 

“And you wanted to make it special,” the cabbie says with a sigh. “Romantic overtures that cross borders are a particular weakness of mine, my friend. But perhaps next time, you should try it in Antiva. She would treat you with more kindness than Orlais.”

 

“Less rain?” Carver shifts uncomfortably in his damp clothes.

 

“Fewer assholes, too.” The driver’s hearty laugh is infectious and Carver can’t help but smile for what feels like the first time in days. His mood is never exactly stellar whenever Felix is out of town. Following up those miserable weeks without him with a trip to the actual hellhole that is Val Royeaux has only cemented his bad mood.

 

Thankfully, the cabbie carries most of the conversation, a pleasant endorsement of Antiva City and its amenities, and Carver leans back in his seat and watches the city pass by. He figures Val Royeaux could be considered beautiful, if someone were into whitewashed buildings topped with an excess of gold and blue. There are flags and streamers everywhere, now soaked with rain and hanging rather sadly. The weather only makes the city seem dreary and grey - even the giant gold lion statues they put up everywhere seem dull in the low light.

 

Carver recognizes only a few places from his frantic search this afternoon. He thinks he must have passed that particular statue of Andraste at least three times. Despite the ache in his feet, it’s only now that he realizes how far he actually walked on his mission to find spicy nuts.

 

“I always thought it would be easier to find international food in a city this big,” he says and the cabbie gives him a curious look. “Uh, I was trying to find a, uh, Tevinter snack...”

 

“Ah.” The cabbie laughs again. “The Orlesians are very suspicious of any food that isn’t strictly Orlesian. After all, it’s the height of culinary excellence,” he adds in a very poor, very amusing version of an Orlesian accent.

 

“I don’t care for it.”

 

“My friend,” the driver says and pulls up in front of the hotel. “I don’t think anyone in their right mind _cares_ for it.”

 

Carver thinks of Felix and grins.

 

“You’d be surprised.”

 

He throws in a generous tip regardless of foreign customs, primarily for the driver’s virtue of not being Orlesian. “Best wishes for your romantic endeavors, my friend,” the elf says with a wink, leaving Carver at the front of the hotel, bags in hand.

 

The hotel isn’t massive-posh, like some of the ritzy places in Denerim. It isn’t showy-posh either - nothing boastful or gaudy about the simple, clean white building, with little dark, twisted iron balconies at each window. The artful flower arrangements aren’t even overwhelming. It’s clean-fancy.

 

Elegant, he thinks Felix would call it.

 

The doorman’s got the best gambling face Carver’s ever seen - doesn’t even bat an eye at him, wet and bedraggled and clearly out of place with two armfuls of goods. Carver doesn’t know the protocol for doormen - is he supposed to say something? Is the doorman? Does he announce himself? He feels like an ass just thinking about it, but that’s what Mother used to do. That’s what Hawke does when a little bullshitting’s in order to get about the more exclusive bits of the world.

 

“Visiting,” he grunts instead, very nearly introducing himself as a delivery boy instead.

 

“The proprietor is inside at the desk,” says the man, his accent thick. Carver’s mostly surprised he responded at all, much less in Common. A little bit of surprise is spared for the fact that the authorities weren’t sicced on him the minute he stepped up to the door.

 

Carver mumbles his thanks - some part of him still expecting the man to follow up with a snide comment. This day has done nothing to make him more trusting of Orlesians. But the doorman seems happy enough to ignore him once he’s inside.

 

The hotel’s foyer continues the theme from outside. It’s spacious and elegant without being too flashy, with black and white tiles on the floor and a wide staircase leading up to the first floor. Even the desk looks sort of nice with its spotless counter made out of dark cherry wood and a little white flower arrangement right next to the bell.

 

The proprietor is a tall man with dark hair and a moustache to rival Dorian’s. He’s in the process of scolding one of his employees, a thin ginger kid who looks a little lost in his uniform, but looks up when Carver approaches the desk.

 

“Uh, hi,” Carver says, very much aware that he’s dripping water all over the pristine floor. “I’m Carver Hawke.”

 

Both men stare at him, just the slightest hint of irritation in the proprietor’s eyes. “Yes?” he says.

 

“I’m here to visit,” Carver says quickly. “Felix Alexius? His father - Gereon? Alexius? He said he’d let someone at the desk know.”

 

The man’s expression doesn’t change. He says something in Orlesian to the ginger kid who's quick to type something into the desk’s computer. Carver notices the way his hands shake and draws his own conclusions as to what kind of employer he’s dealing with here. The proprietor’s eyes flick to the computer screen and then back to Carver.

 

“Magister Alexius is not here at the moment,” he says, his Common almost accent-free.

 

Carver frowns. “Yes, I know. They’re both still at the conference. That’s why he wanted to let someone here know that I was coming.”

 

“He did not.”

 

“Look,” Carver says and readjusts the bags. Something tells him this might take a while. “It’s supposed to be a surprise. I’m supposed to wait in his son’s room.”

 

There’s just the slightest twitch at the corner of the man’s lips. “You have a key then?”

 

“No? I just got here.” Irritation nettles somewhere in Carver’s stomach. “That’s why I’m talking to you!”

 

“In that case, I’m afraid I cannot help you,” the man says, very obviously not sorry at all.

 

Of course. Out of the frying pan, and into weasely Orlesian fire.

 

When Carver was eighteen, he once successfully climbed a high, beamless fence of a training corral and put a horse in a sleeper hold before it could rush Bethany, who had been trapped along the opposite wall. Quietly, Carver thinks should win a medal for not leaping over the counter to see what that grip could do to a little man bloated on his own sense of self-importance.

 

Instead, he carefully sets all of his wet bags on the floor in front of the desk, and manages to drip a little from his soaked hair onto the counter as he goes. He pulls the phone from his pocket and scrolls through the contacts.

 

Maybe it’s a little unconventional for an adult to go running to his boyfriend’s father when he runs into trouble, but at this point, he’s beyond caring.

 

He hesitates to call in case Gereon is in the middle of a conversation, or a presentation, and fires off a quick message instead. A few more drops of water fall from his brow to the desk. He can see the proprietor twitch with each drop.

 

He doesn’t have to wait long at all to see him do a lot more than twitch after the phone rings.

 

The man makes a harsh hissing sound when the ginger one reaches for the phone. He shoos him away with an irritated gesture and picks up.

 

There’s something very gratifying about watching the man’s face fall and the bright red blotches that appear on his cheeks. Carver can’t make out the words but he recognizes Gereon’s voice coming through the phone, calm but assertive. The proprietor doesn’t even try to cut in, his gaze resting on Carver and his mouth a tight thin line underneath his moustache.

 

He ends the phone call with a few sentences in Orlesian, his tone far more apologetic and pleasant than anything he has shown Carver so far. As soon as he puts down the phone, a tiny fake smile curls his lips upward and he nods.

 

“I apologize,” he says, not an ounce of sincerity in his voice. “It seems Magister Alexius did leave a note at the desk. But someone must have misplaced it.” He shoots the ginger kid a pointed look that has him flinching.

 

Carver grits his teeth. “That must happen a lot around here since you didn’t even bother to look for it.”

 

The proprietor’s smile doesn’t waver as he slides a keycard over the counter. “It's a good thing I was here to resolve the issue.” His eyes flick to Carver’s bags. “Will you be needing help with those?”

 

“I think I can manage.”

 

The proprietor seems to be of a different opinion. “Philippe,” he says sharply and the ginger kid straightens up. “Don’t just stand around. Go help the man.” He snaps his fingers until the boy makes his way around the counter and picks up Carver’s bags.

 

Perhaps it’s a good thing as long as it gets the poor guy away from his boss for a while, Carver thinks as he follows Philippe to the elevator. As soon as the doors slide closed behind them, he relaxes visibly.

 

“I’m very sorry about all of this,” he says, his accent so thick it’s difficult to understand him.

 

“It’s alright.” Carver can't help but feel bad for the world of trouble he's probably brought upon this guy. When they finally make it to the hotel room, Carver hands him the last of his cash as a tip and even manages what he hopes passes as an apologetic smile.

 

A wave of relief washes over him when the door falls shut behind Philippe and he’s finally alone. There were a few moments during the day when he almost lost hope that he would even make it this far. With a little sigh he turns around and flips on the lights.

 

It’s not a hotel room. It’s a fucking suite.

 

There’s a kitchen, because of course there is, and a massive bathroom with a tub that could easily fit two - it’s definitely giving Carver ideas. The bed’s just as big here as it is at home, but until tonight, it’s had only Felix to fill it.

 

Carver finishes his brief walkabout - leaves his things in the closet, and the groceries in the kitchen.

 

The flowers, he places on the little table directly beyond the front door. Carver hopes they surprise Felix as much as he thinks they will.

 

He hopes Felix likes his surprises as much as he… well. It’s Felix. He regards most things pleasantly, with grace and poise, more for their intent than the actual effect of them. Carver only hopes the effect pleases him as much as Felix deserves to be pleased.

 

There’s wine - one of Felix's favorites, an Orlesian brand - and chocolates filled with gooey, molten spice because Bethany insisted that the classics were classic for a reason. He’s got two tickets to a thing he knows Felix likes, with singing and dancing and lots of death, that he had to beg and plead Fenris to procure.

 

When everything is put away and ready for Felix to arrive, Carver finds that the last bit of restlessness that came with the anger and frustration of the day has almost vanished. He’s mostly just excited now, a pleasant hum in the back of his mind that’s as much anticipation to see Felix again as it’s nervousness about how he’s going to react.

 

He checks the time. The conference doesn’t end for another hour and it’s at least a fifteen minute drive to the hotel from the venue. Carver really, really wants to try out that bathtub once Felix gets here, but decides to take a quick shower nonetheless. He feels sticky and gross from the day and his damp clothes have started to become really uncomfortable. And it’s something to do other than pace the room while he waits for Felix.

 

Afterwards, he puts on some dry clothes from his own bag - a shirt that Felix got him and that’s about a thousand times nicer than anything he’s ever bought for himself. Even after that, there’s still time left. For a moment, he considers actually starting to prepare the food. He knows that’s what the people in the movies would have done. But he also knows that it would probably be the easiest way to move the evening toward complete disaster. So he turns on the TV instead. Most of the channels are completely in Orlesian, of course. Except for some weird cooking show and a commercial channel advertising travel locations all over Thedas. He wonders what it would be like to go on an actual vacation with Felix. If he’d prefer the beach or the mountains or something else entirely.

 

The alarm on his phone goes off, telling him that the conference should be over by now, and Carver gets up to distribute some candles he bought earlier. He didn’t really think the room would be this big so there aren’t nearly enough but once they're lit, it still looks nice.

 

With five minutes to go, he flicks off the lights, moves the wine from the freezer to the counter top, and retreats to the bedroom to wait.

 

This is the most cliche thing he’s ever done in his life, but aware of that as he is, a giddy, bubbly feeling rises in his chest as he paces the bedroom floor.

 

An antsy seven extra minutes pass, in which Carver considers several possible reasons for the delay - beyond traffic, there are car accidents, and horny Orlesians, and that bastard down at the front desk. Carver worries for an agonizing moment that the proprietor’s ruined the surprise for him when he hears the front door key card recognition beep, and the latch clicks open.

 

Soft footsteps stop almost immediately upon entry, and Carver smiles to himself - he must’ve seen the flowers. And the light from the candles.

 

“... Hello?” comes Felix's tentative call.

 

Carver grins to himself from the sudden spark of pleasure Felix's voice, unfiltered by cell phones and questionable reception, ignites. It hasn’t been long, but Maker, he’s missed him.

 

He doesn’t want to scare or even just startle him - a possibility he has considered while dimming the lights - so he calls out Felix's name. “In here.”

 

He can hear the sharp intake of breath even from the other room, followed by something that must be Felix's bag dropping on the ground and quick footsteps. Watching Felix appear in the door, wide-eyed and with one hand holding on to the doorframe, would be worth a hundred miserable afternoons in Val Royeaux.

 

“Carver!” There are a lot of different emotions flashing across Felix's face, ranging from confusion to disbelief to amusement.

 

“Uh, hi.” Carver grins. “Happy Birthday.”

 

He hardly has the time to get out more than that before Felix has crossed the distance between them and leaped into his arms. It’s better than talking anyway.

 

Felix isn’t nearly as wet as Carver was when he arrived, but his hands are cold and clammy when he cups Carver’s face and pulls him down into a kiss. Carver really doesn’t mind. His mouth is warm at least, and his smile is even warmer when he pulls back to beam up at him.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“Surprising you. I thought that was obvious.”

 

Felix laughs and buries his face in the fabric of Carver’s shirt.

 

“How did you even find me?” he asks, tucking his cold fingers up under the shirt at Carver’s back. He hisses at the chill, and squeezes Felix a little tighter in retribution. “I never told you where I was staying.”

 

“Your dad helped a bit,” Carver admits. Felix smells different up close - the scent of their home has worn away in the weeks he’s been gone, using different soaps, a new cologne - probably a birthday gift. Wherever he’s been washing his clothes uses a subtler detergent, as well. Still, Carver kisses the soft skin below Felix's ear, and smells a little of him at his throat.

 

“You’re sniffing at me,” Felix tells him, laughter in his voice. Carver gathers him closer and takes a deep, noisy sniff, despite Felix's protests.

 

“You smell off,” he says.

 

“Oh, well. I haven’t showered yet -”

 

“Not bad,” Carver corrects himself, giving him a great, smacking kiss at his temple. “Just different. Not the same. What’re you wearing?”

 

“Hmm? Oh. My mother sent me a new scent from Quarinus. You don’t like it?”

 

“Didn’t say that.” He takes another sniff that has Felix laughing. “Just have to get used to it. I should probably stay very, very close to you.”

 

Felix snakes his arms around his neck and smiles. “You really should.” He pulls him down into another kiss, slow and deep this time. Maker, how he has missed this. The feeling of Felix's lips and the soft slide of his tongue and the way he presses himself against Carver. All of it.

 

“I’ve missed you,” Carver murmurs against the corner of Felix's mouth, as if it wasn’t obvious by the way he’s holding him.

 

Sometime later, after Felix has shucked off his jacket and his fingers are at least warm enough that Carver doesn’t flinch every time he runs them underneath the hem of his shirt, Carver remembers that there was a plan. Before Felix so thoroughly distracted him.

 

“I brought food,” he says and Felix makes a contemplative noise against his neck. “You’re probably hungry.”

 

Felix pulls back, a movement so abrupt that it startles Carver. “I told my father I’d have dinner with him!” It takes a second for the shock on his face to make way for a dawning realization. “Oh, he knew. That’s why he wouldn’t let me eat at the venue.”

 

Carver can’t help but laugh. “He’s been very helpful.”

 

“And here I spent my whole life thinking my father couldn’t keep a secret from me.” Felix shakes his head. “Unbelieveable.”

 

“You really didn’t suspect a thing?” Carver asks and gently pulls himself out of Felix's embrace if only to guide him to the kitchen.

 

“No.” Felix takes his hand and squeezes it. “I thought I’d spend another night alone in that bed. I didn’t even think you’d still be awake so I could call you. That stupid time difference…”

 

Carver runs his thumb across Felix's knuckles. “No phone calls tonight.”

 

“No, not tonight.” There is a promising edge to Felix's smile that he likes.

 

Dinner is a quick affair, much to Carver’s surprise. Felix gives him a look at the bag full of spicy nuts, and looks ready to jump him again when he sees that the other is topped with several boxes of tiny, unbelievably expensive cakes. Carver doesn’t tell him how difficult it had been to find them, or to pick the right ones, or how the entire Val Royeaux marketplace has taken off ten years from his life.

 

And the next time Felix kisses him, he tastes like dark chocolate.

 

“Dessert for dinner,” Felix sighs, leaning into him on the pristine white chaise. Carver drapes his arm over the back and tucks Felix in closer.

 

“You’re as happy about it as a kid.”

 

“Happier,” Felix corrects him, sucking a smudge of creme from his thumb. “The happiest child alive.” He picks another tiny case, popping it open to lift a delicate strawberry pastry out with his fingertips. He lifts it to Carver’s lips. “Try one?”

 

“It’s not _my_ birthday.”

 

“No - it’s mine. And it would please me greatly if you’d stuff yourself with cake.”

 

“Oh, well. If you insist."

 

“I do.”

 

The pastry is good, surprisingly so. There is nothing weird or Orlesian about it, despite the fancy chocolate decoration on top. There’s also the added benefit of Felix actually feeding it to him and the fact that his fingers linger long enough for Carver to lick a smudge of chocolate from his thumb.

 

Felix's eyes go wide and warmth spreads through Carver at the sight. Felix leans in to kiss him but pulls back before he can turn it into anything more to pick out another pastry for Carver. It’s coconut and white chocolate this time, incredibly sweet and fluffy. Carver gently nips Felix's thumb when he doesn’t pull away quickly enough.

 

“My turn,” he says, a little floaty with the wine and the sudden rush of sugar and the feeling of having Felix in his arms again. He picks out a small pastry with chopped pistachios on top and lifts it up to Felix's lips. Felix actually groans when he bites into it. Carver laughs and wipes away a bit of cream from the corner of Felix's mouth.

 

Apparently that’s all it takes.

 

“Enough cake,” Felix declares and pushes the rest of them back onto the table before moving over to straddle Carver’s legs. Carver only has time for a surprised noise before Felix tips his chin up to kiss him properly.

 

He tastes like a cacophony of flavors that all meld together to form a powerful sweetness on Felix's tongue. Carver opens his mouth to let Felix lick his way inside, like Carver’s just another dessert. Like he’s being devoured, and pleased as punch about it.

 

Felix always dresses well, but it isn’t often Carver sees him in an actual three-piece suit. He hasn’t even had the time to properly admire the way Felix's waistcoat fits his body, wine red under a charcoal grey coat. He takes care not to wrinkle the damn thing as he untucks Felix's dress shirt, smoothing a hand up his naked spine.

 

“Missed you, too,” Felix says in between hard kisses at the corner of Carver’s mouth. His hands are hot, pressed as they are to Carver’s neck. “Grab my ass?”

 

“Since you asked nicely.” Carver’s hands slip out from under Felix's shirt to cup his ass and drag him closer.

 

“Perfect,” Felix pants, nosing at Carver’s jaw. He moves his hips promisingly.

 

“We’re not doing this in your fancy kit, are we?” Carver asks. “Only, ‘s not really a conversation anyone should have with their dry cleaner.”

 

“You can have me in or out of anything you like.”

 

“See, that isn’t _helping_.” Carver pulls back to fiddle with all the tiny buttons on Felix's waistcoat himself. Even when he gets down to the shirt, it’s not as sexy as he might like - goodness knows how badly he’d ruin Felix's few nice things with his clumsy hands if he let himself get distracted with sexiness. Felix would allow it - encourage it, even, if he was in one of his _moods_.

 

Not that Carver doesn’t like to watch him short fuse at any little display of raw strength or barbarism. There’s just a time and a place and a specifically chosen wardrobe for that destructive level of seduction.

 

Felix wiggles impatiently in his lap and reaches up to undo his own buttons. Carver swats his hands away. “Let me. I’ve almost got it.”

 

“No.” Felix laughs and stills his hands by covering them with his own. “Let me.”

 

He makes a show of it, completely obvious and unashamed. His fingers are so much better with those buttons, undoing them slowly one by one. Carver doesn’t know where to looks first - at the exposed skin of Felix's chest or at his face as he’s watching him so intently, his teeth digging into his bottom lip.

 

As soon as the last button is undone, Carver’s hands dart forward again, running his fingers over the smooth dark skin of Felix's stomach and chest until he can push the shirt over his shoulders and down his arms. With his arms caught like this for a moment, Felix arches his back, the offer of his exposed throat too inviting to refuse. Carver leans forward to pepper his neck with kisses, slowly making his way down to the slope of his shoulder. He places a kiss there, carefully, before sinking his teeth in.

 

Felix gasps and twitches in Carver’s arms. He smells a little bit more like himself here, Carver thinks as he noses at the skin of his collarbone.

 

“So,” he says, his hands running freely up Felix's spine now that the fancy clothes are out of the way, “I had an idea.”

 

“I love your ideas,” Felix says his fingers digging into Carver shoulders. “Do tell.”

 

“There’s this huge tub in your bathroom…”

 

Felix eyes go wide and his grip tightens for a moment. “Oh, yes.”

 

His eagerness makes Carver laugh. “But since it’s your birthday, I thought I’d give you the choice. I could either run a bath for us now,” he says and places a small kiss just below Felix's jaw. “Or I could fuck you first and carry you in afterwards.”

 

Felix groans, fisting a hand in Carver’s hair. “You can’t possibly expect me to choose,” he pants, bumping his nose against Carver’s cheek on his way to his mouth.

 

“C’mon, birthday boy,” he grins, unbuttoning Felix's trousers. Felix tries and fails to rut against him without any ground.

 

He rubs his smooth-shaven chin against Carver’s. “You’re being cruel,” he pleads, pressing imploring little kisses to the side of his face. Carver snorts.

 

“And here I thought I was being thoughtful.”

 

“ _Too_ thoughtful.” He palms at Carver’s chest, his brow furrowed in deep contemplation. Carver contents himself with mouthing at his neck while he thinks. “We’d make a mess in the bath, wouldn’t we?”

 

“Such a mess,” Carver agrees, nibbling on a faint mark at Felix’s collar bone.

 

Felix pushes him back, just enough that he can look at him. His eyes are very dark. “We should risk it.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Felix nods. “But I wouldn’t object to being carried.”

 

Carver laughs and lets his hands run over Felix’s ass. “Of course you wouldn’t.” He gives him a little squeeze before holding on to his thighs. The chaise is low enough that getting out of his seat with Felix in his arms is a little bit more difficult that anticipated. It’s worth it for the way Felix gasps and holds on to his shoulders, though. It always is.

 

Once he’s standing, Felix tips up his chin for another kiss. “I love when you do that.”

 

“Do you?” Carver grins. “I couldn’t tell.”

 

He almost trips over the little coffee table on their way to the bathroom but finally manages to set Felix down on the edge of the tub without having dropped him. Without windows and the lights of the city outside, Felix looks different in here. There’s only the golden light from the candles dancing across his skin, casting deep shadows and creating soft edges.

 

Carver finds himself kneeling in front of him before he can even think about it, his knees cushioned by the thick plush carpet and his hands resting on Felix’s thighs. Felix looks at him, a little confused smile on his face, but he reaches out to gently cup the side of his face.

 

“You’re gorgeous,” Carver says, quiet in this small space.

 

There’s no way of telling if Felix blushes but he leans down to kiss Carver, still tasting faintly of chocolate and cream.

 

“Wait,” he mumbles against Carver’s lips before leaning back to turn on the water.

 

“Perhaps I should’ve prepared this beforehand,” Carver says when it becomes evident that the water pressure is, as so many Orlesian things, less than stellar. “This is going to take ages to fill up.”

 

Felix shrugs, already busy with the buttons on Carver’s shirt. “At least that gives me time to undress you properly.” He leans in to plant a kiss on Carver’s throat. “With appropriate care and consideration.”

 

Carver groans lowly, squeezing Felix’s thighs. “Love it when you talk dirty to me.”

 

A choked little laugh takes Felix by surprise, and Carver uses the opportunity to help him with the shirt.

 

“However will we fill all this time?” Felix sighs as Carver shrugs out of his shirt and tosses it aside to lean forward, planting kiss after lingering kiss against Felix’s chest.

 

“Couldn’t imagine.” He runs his hands down Felix’s inner thighs to quicken his breath. “Nothing comes to mind.”

 

“I hope _something_ comes.”

 

“Cheeky. Don’t you mean someone?”

 

“Two someones, if we’re very, very lucky.”

 

Carver hums thoughtfully as he drags his thumbs in slow circles high up Felix’s inner thigh. “Luck’s alright, but I’ve got a pair of hands and a mouth that work just as well.”

 

Felix coughs indiscreetly into his fist, his laughter poorly hidden. Carver looks up at him, brow cocked. “What’s that, love? You need proof?”

 

“Well,” Felix says, “a little evidence goes a long way.”

 

“Right then.” Carver sits up on his knees a little straighter, rolling his shoulders and his neck . “Only one thing for it. Get your cock out.”

 

Felix doesn’t even try to hide his laughter then. “I knew you wouldn’t be patient enough to wait for the tub to fill up,” he says, but doesn’t even manage to feign a scolding tone.

 

“Felix,” Carver says as he helps pull down Felix’s trousers as soon as he lifts his hips, “you don’t know what you look like in this light.”

 

“Oh.” Now there’s no mistaking the color that creeps into Felix’s cheeks. It gives him enough pause for Carver to reach up and pull down his briefs as well. He throws them and the trousers somewhere into the corner of the room. He doesn’t care - not when Felix is right in front of him, already hard and panting.

 

“Fucking gorgeous,” Carver repeats and starts kissing the inside of Felix’s left thigh. He can feel Felix’s pulse right there, his racing heartbeat. The way he jerks when Carver’s teeth scrape across the sensitive skin.

 

“Carver... Oh-” Felix gasps and Carver has to dig his fingers into his thighs to keep him still while he sucks a mark into his skin. It won’t show, not for long, but it never fails to make Felix squirm. “Please,” he moans, his tone turned pleading when Carver soothes the spot with his tongue.

 

“I haven’t even touched you yet,” Carver says and allows himself a small grin.

 

Felix huffs. “Then perhaps you should.” But he stays still when Carver switches to the other thigh, brushing lips threatening to repeat the procedure on this side. “Or the bath will be done before I am.”

 

“That was always an option.” Carver presses Felix‘s cock against his stomach and licks a broad stripe from base to tip. Felix‘s thighs flex under his hands, but Carver keeps him pinned, glancing up when the thick head of Felix‘s cock rests on his bottom lip.

 

“If I fall in the tub, it‘ll be your doing,” Felix warns him, digging his fingers through Carver‘s hair.

 

“Manage not to concuss yourself, and we‘ll even manage a second go in the tub.”

 

“You mean, the original plan?”

 

“I‘m very fond of it.”

 

Felix pets his hair before he cups Carver‘s jaw, pressing his thumb to the corner of his mouth. “What else are you fond of?” he asks, only just loud enough to be heard over the running water.

 

Carver’s used to Felix’s voice doing things to him. _Nice_ things. But it’s hardly the same as the effect the low rumble of his voice has on him now, every word shooting straight to his dick. He has to resist the urge to palm at his own erection through his pants and keeps his focus on Felix. There’s a good chance that Felix knows exactly what he’s doing, if the little smile on his face is any indication.

 

“I’m fond of a lot of things,” Carver says, aware of his breath on Felix’s cock. He follows it with a little swipe of his tongue, just enough to make Felix gasp and knit his brows. “Like the way you look when I do that.”

 

“Oh, so you’re fond of teasing?” Felix’s hand returns to his hair to give it a little tug.

 

“I’m fond of everything that involves your cock, really.” He places a kiss just below the head. “Like this part. Or this one.” He lets go of Felix’s thigh to cup his balls. “The way you feel in my hand.” He strokes along the length of it, far too slow and gentle. “How you feel on my tongue. And down my throat…”

 

Felix makes a sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a whine. His hips buck forward and for a second Carver really thinks he’s going to fall over backwards. His tightens his grip on his thigh, enough to make him worry it’s too much, but it only sparks another moan from Felix whose eyes flutter shut for a moment.

 

“Carver, please…”

 

Carver presses his tongue just under the head, and Felix‘s hips make an aborted jump. “Carver -”

 

Before he can form a proper protest, Carver swallows him down. Felix breathes out a long, heavy gust of air. His fingers tighten in Carver‘s hair before they relax again. “Carver,” he says again, this time a sigh.

 

Carver squeezes his thighs.

 

He’s got maybe five minutes before the bathtub fills enough to occupy comfortably, and Carver plans to make it count.

 

The noises that fall from Felix’s lips when Carver manages to take him back into his throat has Carver giving in, squeezing his own cock trapped in his trousers. Naturally, once freed, Felix risks his precarious position to widen his thighs. Then, restlessly, he drags it closer over Carver’s shoulder. Carver pulls off with an intentional pop, slowly pumping Felix’s cock. “You’re going to fall like that.”

 

“You’ll catch me,” Felix hums, digging the heel of his foot into Carver’s back. Carver snorts, squeezing himself before he nudges in closer, kissing the head.

 

“You’re very confident,” he mutters, and swirls his tongue around the head before Felix can reply.

 

It’s more of a shout, accompanied by Felix’s grip tightening in Carver’s hair again. The jerk of his hips is so strong that Carver abandons his own cock in order to hold on to Felix. He’s never let Felix fall and he’s not going to start now. There’s a reason for Felix’s confidence, after all.

 

Felix’s groans echo off the tiled walls, mixing with the sound of rushing water, as Carver swallows him down once more.

 

Felix urges him on, his leg pulling him closer and his fingers still laced in his hair. There are words as well - some in Common, some in Tevene. Some of them praise and some of them filthy enough to make Carver groan himself. It’s the certain kind of bossiness that makes Carver’s skin tingle with anticipation.

 

He feels the muscles in Felix’s thighs go taut and leans back, pulling off with another plop.

 

“Carver!” Felix sounds so offended, Carver can’t help but grin. He looks up to find Felix panting, his brow knitted and his lips swollen and red from his own teeth. The rising steam from the tub has covered his skin with a faint sheen of sweat and his cheeks are ruddy - both from arousal and the heat.

 

Carver’s not a complete monster so he lets go of Felix’s thigh to pump his cock lazily with one hand, not nearly enough pressure. “Yes?”

 

“Please, amatus,” Felix gasps. “I’m so close. Don’t stop.”

 

So Carver doesn’t.

 

He brings Felix closer and closer to the edge, ever attuned to the rising cadence of Felix’s voice as he nears the end, and then, on the precipice of Felix’s orgasm -

 

Carver pulls away entirely.

 

Felix doesn’t form a coherent protest as much as he breathes betrayal. From the sound of it, Carver may as well have killed his father. He tries not to smile too obviously as he leans in and kisses Felix’s inner thigh.

 

“You really want to get in that hot water with a sensitive prick?” he asks, patting Felix’s ass in consolation.

 

“I’m not of a mind for - logic,” Felix huffs, and makes to lean backward before he thinks better of it.

 

“‘s alright, love. Just don’t want you to kill me when you forget not to boil yourself before you get used to the heat.”

 

Carver leans around him to shut off the tap and stands to finally shuck off the rest of his clothes.

 

Felix’s gaze lingers but he still pouts. “This isn’t going to console me.”

 

“It’s not?” Carver strikes a pose and flexes until the corner of Felix’s mouth twitches with a suppressed smile.

 

“Alright. It’s a start.” Felix takes a deep breath. He’s still flushed all the way down to his chest and he’s holding on to the edge of the tub tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. “But I’m not so sure anymore about your commitment to follow through…”

 

Carver pulls him to his feet, one arm snug around his waist. “Oh, I intend to follow through.” He presses a kiss to the corner of Felix’s lips. 

 

“All that talk,” Felix laments with a small sigh, “and yet…”

 

Carver takes the opportunity to cup Felix’s ass and to pull him close. “Have I ever left you hanging, love?”

 

“I’ll hold you to that.” Felix ruts against his thigh and smiles at the little gasp it draws from Carver.

 

“Look who‘s wasting time now,” Carver snarks, helpless but to give Felix‘s ass an affectionate little pat before he nudges him toward the tub.

 

“I have a lot of catching up to do before I waste half as much time as you,” Felix says. He takes Carver‘s hand as he eases himself into the bath, the water rising with every inch. Carver keeps a hold on him all the way down before he moves to join him.

 

“Oh? Didn‘t realize you considered cocksucking a waste of time. I’ll keep that mind.”

 

Felix huffs out a laugh as he flips himself around, crowding Carver against the side of the tub. “I’d be far more concerned if I didn’t know how much you loved sucking cock.”

 

“Alright,” Carver growls, drawing his nails over Felix’s ribs until he’s squirming. “That’s a state bloody secret, you can’t just go around shouting it to everybody.”

 

“And here I thought you wanted to make me shout.”

 

“Huh. That was part of the plan, yes.”

 

Felix rocks against him and water splashes over the edge of the tub and onto the tiles below. He laughs. “Did you plan include flooding the suite?”

 

“If there’s no other way…”

 

Felix settles in between Carver’s legs, back pressed against his chest. Until he’s found a comfortable position, they lose some more water. Carver slings both his arms around him and holds him in place. “Will you stop squirming?”

 

“Will you start touching me?”

 

Carver muffles his laughter by pressing his lips against Felix’s shoulder. “The cheek of you…” He scrapes his teeth across the soft skin until Felix leans back a little further with a small sigh. “Just relax.”  

 

“I’d relax more if you touched me -” Felix starts, his breath hitching when Carver dips a hand between his thighs. He doesn’t stop to grab him, which has Felix tensing for protest until Carver presses a finger against him. “Oh,” he breathes, bending his knees a little closer, spreading his legs a little farther.

 

“Good?” Carver asks, drawing slow, easy circles around him.

 

“Better,” Felix sighs. Finally, finally, he eases back against Carver. “More?”

 

“Since you asked so nicely.” Carver kisses his ear and gently presses into him. Not far - they’ve no oil yet, and Felix is tight after so long apart. But Felix makes an encouraging little noise, and really, who is Carver to resist? He pulls his finger away, but only long enough to curl his other hand around Felix’s cock.

 

“Please,” Felix says. Carver presses his finger back inside, all the way up to the first knuckle, then the second. Felix twitches in his hand, and Carver gives him a few slow strokes.

 

“Easy,” he murmurs, kissing Felix’s neck.

 

“Carver… Ah!” Felix’s legs jerk and Carver grins at the splashing sound. It’s always difficult to keep Felix still, with his constant urge to move as soon as Carver presses as much as a finger inside of him. Adding water and limited space only complicates the task.

 

Carver plants another kiss on the slope Felix’s shoulder before gently biting down, just enough pressure to ground him. He can feel Felix relax immediately, enough to slip in just a little further.

 

Felix sighs. “I’ve missed this.” The breathless tone of his voice tells Carver just how much.

 

“Yeah?” Carver runs the pad of his thumb over the head of Felix’s cock. “This in particular?”

 

“Something like it.” He gasps when Carver picks up the pace just a little bit. “Although - oh - it usually involved more than just a finger.”

 

Carver muffles his laugh against Felix shoulder. “'s that so?”

 

Felix makes an affirmative noise and rocks back against him - just enough to make more water splosh over the edge of the tub and to make Carver groan.

 

“I don’t have anything -” Carver grunts, and Felix interrupts him with an impatient wriggle.

 

“Then why are we doing this here?” He reaches back to wrap an arm around the back of Carver’s neck, spreading his legs as far as the bathtub will allow. It’s a big fucking tub, but not nearly enough for him to stretch as far as he’d like. “Try two?”

 

“Right, like you wouldn’t just power through it if I hurt you.”

 

“Do you have anything in the other room?”

 

“Yeah, ‘course, but -”

 

“Go! Maker, Carver, _go_.”

 

Carver laughs, flustered, and slowly draws Felix away from himself. It’s more than a little awkward, trying to climb out of a warm bath with his cock hanging about, stiff as a board. “I appreciate the view,” Felix calls after him as he stumbles into the adjoining bedroom for his bag.

 

Carver can hear Felix laughing from the other room as he frantically empties his bag onto the floor. It takes him a few moments and a handful of colorful curses before he spots the bottle of lube in a side pocket. “Got it,” he calls out.

 

“Then get back in here. Or the water will get cold.”

 

He returns to the bathroom to find Felix casually leaning against the back of the tub and stroking himself slowly, his eyes trained on Carver. The sight’s distracting enough to nearly cause Carver to slip on the trail of water he left on the tiles. He catches himself just in time but Felix flinches, worry flashing across his face.

 

“Please don’t hit your head and die on my birthday,” he says and takes Carver’s hand as he gets back into the tub. “Or on any other day.”

 

“I’ll do my best.” He nudges Felix in the side. “Now get your ass out of the water or all this will be for naught.” He opens the bottle of lube and squirts some into his palm.

 

Felix leans in to kiss him before turning around and getting on his knees. He leans forward until he can rest his arms on the edge of the tub and wiggles his ass invitingly with a little smile over his shoulder.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Carver says, aware of how endlessly fond he sounds.

 

“Must you always tell me this when I’ve got my arse in the air?”

 

Carver snickers as he gets himself comfortable on his knees behind Felix, running slippery fingers down his ass. “When did you start saying ‘arse’?”

 

“I'm told I’ve changed quite a lot since being courted by a Fereldan. He’s not nearly as responsive as he used to be when I begged him to fuck me, though. I worry our relationship has lost its edge.”

 

“Can’t be,” Carver says, pressing a slow series of kisses down Felix’s back as he works him open again, on one finger, then on two. “I imagine he’s just learning to really appreciate you. Savor you. Like… an old wine.”

 

“He calls me _old_ , too, if you can believe it. When he’s b- _hahh_ \- busy not fucking me.”

 

“An old _fine_ wine,” Carver says. “The fancy expensive kind. Top shelf.” He twists his fingers just right and Felix _sighs_. “And who would have thought that your Fereldan’d turn out to be the patient one in this relationship?”

 

“Let me have a go at sucking you off and then pulling back at the last second. We’ll see how patient you are then.”

 

Carver nips at one of the little moles on Felix’s shoulder. “I think I’d rather fuck you instead.”

 

“If you’d be so kind.” Felix turns his head to look at him, his face flushed and his eyes dark.

 

Felix is still tight and Carver adds a little bit more lube before carefully pressing in a third finger. When Felix tenses for a moment, Carver stills. “Alright?”

 

Felix makes a noise, somewhere between appreciation and impatience, before slowly rocking back against Carver’s hand. The sight and the sounds that fall from Felix’s lips shoot straight to his dick.

 

“Maker, Felix…”

 

“Carver, please -” Felix rests his head on his forearms as if it’s suddenly too heavy.

 

Despite all the extra room, buggering Felix in the bath is much more difficult than the shower. His knees slip whenever he builds momentum, and Felix has no real purchase on the sick rim of the tub, his entire body shifting to grip the edge and throwing both of them off balance.

 

Still. There’s a novelty to it, seeing the steam rise off of Felix’s skin while Carver fucks him, his noises ringing clearer without the muffle of running water. The water slosh at the sides is almost obscene, accompanying the wet slap of skin on skin.

 

Carver spreads his legs a little further to lower himself, and the angle works better for his momentum. It definitely seems to be working better for Felix.

 

Felix cries out, shouts Carver’s name as he struggles to hold on to the edge of the tub. Sitting a little lower allows Carver to hold on to Felix’s hips without slipping away with every movement. He tightens his grip.

 

“’s alright. Got you.”

 

Felix’s laugh echos off the tiled walls, only cut short by a loud moan when Carver rocks into him. “I know you do,” he says breathlessly. Every muscle in his back is taut, shifting distractingly under his dark skin. Carver leans forward to press a kiss between his shoulder blades.

 

“You close?”

 

Felix’s answer is just a strangled noise but it’s all Carver needs to hear. He reaches around Felix to take him in hand. He strokes him once, twice, and Felix comes with a shout. He would have slipped if not for Carver’s other hand quickly darting up to catch him, splayed across his chest and holding him close.

 

He eases them both back until he rests against the tub, Felix sprawled in his lap. It’s a little adjustment to make, spreading his knees to seat Felix comfortably. Carver plants his feet wide apart on the floor, knees bent, and holds Felix close as he presses himself up and up inside him.

 

Felix melts against him with quiet, breathy noises that drive Carver a little faster, a little harder. Resting his head back in the crook of Carver’s shoulder, Felix kisses sloppily at his jaw, sliding his hand over Carver’s arm across his chest.

 

“Carver,” he breathes, drawing his own nails down his shifting torso, dipping them low under the water. Carver groans, his attention rapt on Felix’s hand. His own arm tightens, pressing Felix harder against him

 

“Fuck, Felix,” he swears, his own toes curling. His thighs are beginning to ache, but Felix’s body before him, sprawled and at the mercy of his every move, just drives him on. He’s so pliant in his arms, so tight around him, and every thrust draws the most delicious sounds from him. When his fingertips brush against Carver’s balls, it’s almost too much. When they slide a little lower, it is. Just the smallest amount of pressure and Carver comes undone with a hoarse cry.

 

Carver hears his own blood rushing in his ears and feels Felix’s racing heart underneath his hand. Both of them are panting, slowly sinking deeper into the warm water as they’re coming down. Carver feels heavy and boneless and when Felix carefully slips out of his grip, he isn’t able to do more than let out a low grumble.

 

“It’s alright,” Felix says, his voice low and calming. “I’m only turning around.” He gently arranges Carver’s legs like he wants them before straddling him. Carver hisses when he bumps against his oversensitive cock but slings his arms around him to pull him close anyway.

 

Felix leans in to kiss him, slow and deep, before curling up againsthis broad chest, his lips pressing small kisses against his collarbone. “That was very nice,” he says and runs his nails carefully up and down Carver’s sides. “I’m glad we picked the bathtub.”

 

Carver grunts, winding his arms around Felix’s torso. He hasn’t the strength in him to do much more than hold him loosely.

 

Laughter, then, in Felix’s eyes.

 

“Happy birthday to me,” he says, fiddling with the faucet to add a little cool water.

 

Carver snorts. “Happy birthday to the poor bastard that has to clean this tub.”

 

“They’d probably be Orlesian,” Felix says, tucking his face against the crook of Carver’s neck. “Do you really care?”

 

“Well, now that you mention it,” Carver says pleasantly, “not a fucking bit.”

 

Felix’s laughter bounces off the washroom walls. There’s honey in Carver’s chest, slow and sweet as it sinks through his limbs. He hopes it melts into Felix, for how close they’re pressed together.

 

He hopes this horrible day never ends.

**Author's Note:**

> [Absence
> 
> "I am aware of how to spell it. This bottling reflects my wish that the current crop of behatted self-styled cads would disappear. I preferred la fée verte as spirit, not affectation. " —Distiller Emeritus Gaivon]
> 
>    
> Inquire about fic requests [here!](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/ask)  
> If you are so inclined, feel free to follow [mywordsflyup](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com/)'s & [Byacolate's Tumblr](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/).


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